Friday, October 30, 2015

It's amazing the predicament a teacher can get intowhen he tries to communicate with Ojibway words he doesn't understand.Such was the case on Halloween, 1960,when my father tried to explain Halloween to his Ojibwa children in the heart of wintigo territory in Northern Ontario.

I can’t remember when I have ever seen children enjoying themselves like my Indians did. Bill Mitchell told me that they never had parties in the school, till I came. All the white people think it is wonderful of me to go to the trouble and expense to treat the Indians.Bill told me also that if I had let him know about the party earlier, he would have donated quite a bit of candy and gum, etc., but that by the time he found out about it, he had already given all that he could afford to the Indians for the month and had exhausted the amount that the Bay allows him to spend on welfare.

Bill and I are planning a whale of a Christmas party for them though. He is going to donate $20.00 himself and seventy dollars on behalf of the Bay. Harry Evans, the pilot for Superior Airways, is going to fly a Santa Claus in from Armstrong for the party. This Santa will also visit the out-lying settlements at Summer Beaver, Big Beaver House, and Webique. Bill is trying to talk me into going along to help Santa out and see that everything is distributed evenly.All the Protestant white people will also be helping out with the party, and the Anglican Bishop will be good for a donation. We are not going to have any sort of a concert though,just a nice party with Santa. So Donnie and Barbara won’t be confused and disillusioned, tell them that it will be so near Christmas that Santa is saving his reindeer for the big night. That is why he has to fly in with Harry Evans.

But to get back to the party we had this afternoon, we played all the traditional Halloween games such as dunking for apples, eating apples on an string, and many others too numerous to mention. The Indian children don’t celebrate Halloween, and they had never dunked for apples before.

Of course, there were no masks in the Bay, so I had them all make masks. Of course they didn’t have the slightest idea how to do this, so I had to make one first, and pass it about the classroom for them to examine. Then I had to draw about ten different faces on the blackboard to give them some ideas. I drew a clown, a fat blond woman, a baldheaded man, a devil, an Indian in war paint, a skull, a witch, and some others that I can’t recall right now. Some of the masks turned out pretty good.

I ran into quite a problem in communications when I tried to explain just what Halloween was. The Indians just don’t have any words for goblin, elf, little people, or anything like these words, and consequently they had no conception of what I was talking about at first.I was just getting nowhere at first with my explanations. Then I thought of the Ojibway word Wintigo, so I introduced this into my explanations. All this was taking place in the morning of Halloween. Then I got a reaction from them. They all looked startled and scared; and I thought good, now they’re getting in the proper spirit to talk about ghosts, goblins, etc. I thought that the word Wintigo was ghost, so I started talking about how on Halloween all the wintigos go out on the prowl. Well, all of a sudden, all the little children were crying, and even my teenagers were looking damned scared. Then, I realized that wintigoevidentially had a different meaning than that that I was trying to put across to them. I tried to get myself out of the mix-up, but only succeeded in getting myself in deeper. The more I talked about the Wintigo, the more scared they got. Well, then, I tried the word Manito which means spirit, but this means nothing to the Indians, unless you talk about the Matche Manito, which means bad spirit, or Mino Manito, which means good spirit. Unfortunately the Matche Manito now means the Devil, and that only made them worse than ever. When I tried Mino Manito, I just added confusion to my other difficulties, because with the advent of Christianity, Mino Manito has come to mean the Holy Ghost. I could have used a little help from him about then, or even from Kishe Manito, which means Chief Spirit or God.Well, finally I started to get alarmed about how scared they were.

I was frightened that if I didn’t get things straightened out, they might be too scared to go home for dinner; and certainly, they would be too scared to come back for the party in the afternoon. I told them to stay in the class, and I went over to the nursing station after Anne Flaherty and told her my troubles. I needn’t have worried about the children leaving the school while I was gone. At this stage of the game, they were so scared that it would have taken a bomb to get them out. Anne is part Ojibway and speaks the language, so she came over to the school; and after about fifteen minutes of rapid-fire, two-way conversation with the Indians in Ojibway (none of which I could follow,) she had things straightened out for me.It was just about dinnertime by then, so I let the children go home, and I accepted Anne’s invitation to stay for dinner at the nursing station.

From Anne, I found out just what a Wintigo is. We have no word for it. A Wintigo is the very personification of all things evil and horrible. It is far worse than our devil. It is a combination of a devil, ghost, ghoul, werewolf, and anything else you can think of. Wintigos are supposed to eat women and children. If a wintigo visits the community, all sort of horrible things can happen. No wonder the poor kids were terrified.

In spite of their acceptance of Christianity and everything, they all believe firmly in wintigos. Wintigos are as real to them as God is to us. I have decided to leave Ojibway out of my explanations till I am a whole lot more proficient in the language. Well that winds up the page, and the day, so I will sign off.Bye now,Love,Don.

Notes:1. Wintigo: Father Ouimet was giving my father lessonsin the local Ojibway language.
Apparently wintigo was the spelling used there.
The word has many spellings, windigo being a more common one.

2. A Great Book:

This is my favorite novel (so far)
written about the Oji-Cree in Northwestern Ontario.
It gives a chilling account of the experiences
of two young Cree fighting in WWI
and of the Wintigo
in Ojibwa and Cree cultures.

Joseph Boyden, its author, has written
two more memorable books about First Nations peoples:Through Black Spruce and The Orenda.Amazon

And for Map Lovers Like Me

Territories of the Ojibwa Groups

Lansdowne House is on the Attawipiskat River (by #15),
The river wasn't sketched as far as Lansdowne House
(a little to the right of the first O in Ontario).

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Well OOPs!I thought I had scheduled this to post on November 1st!LOL ~ The Computer-Challenged One strikes again!Happy November!I hope you've survived last night's Halloween shenanigansand are looking forward to a great holiday season!Did you have fun chasing down October's photos?I did! No organizing theme for me this time,just a potpourri pulled together during a challenging month!

1. Question

What Are You Hoping For, Gracie and Rufus?

Aurora, Colorado, USA

2. Cream

A House Specialty ~ Ekmet
Loaded with Whipped CreamIthaka Greek RestaurantVictoria, British Columbia, Canada3. Number

A Number of Pronghorn on the PrairieAurora, Colorado, U.S.A.4. Lattice

Lattice Work on a Back Alley Door
ChinatownVictoria, British Columbia, Canada5. Familiar

Well, for a number of nights,an unidentifiable brainwormwas burrowing through my dreams,and it kept busting throughthe music in my head when I was awake.The violins looped around and aroundfilling my mind with gorgeous sound,but I couldn't grasp the rest of the piece.

And then I realized that an organwas coming into the snatch of musicafter a few seconds.Bam! Slam! Deep Purple!AnthemDownstairs to my CD Collection.Gotcha!!!

Those first three albums contained some well-known favorites of mine:Shades of Deep Purple (favs: Mandrake Root, Hush)Book of Taliesyn (favs: River Deep, Mountain High, Kentucky Woman, Anthem)and Deep Purple (fav: Laleña).Anthem is on TheBook of Taliesyn.The song stands out as one of the first that fused rock and classical music. Jon Lord composed a baroque section featuring an organ and a string quartet for the middle of Anthem.wikipediaBut Anthem was much more than its music.Its lyrics capture the intense feelings of love rejectedand of those dark nights of the soul spent spinning around in twisted sheets.

The refrain expresses a futile hope filled with longing.Chances are, if you've ever loved and lost,that you have felt like this."If I could see youIf only I could see youTo see if you are laughing or cryingWhen the night winds softly blow"Source: metrolyricsSongwriters: RICE, TIM / ANDERSSON, BENNY GORAN BROR / ULVAEUS, BJOERN K.

Sadly, Jon Lord died of pancreatic cancer on July 16, 2012.Lars Ulrich of Metallica commented after Lord's death:"We can all be guilty of
lightly throwing adjectives like 'unique,' 'one-of-a-kind' and
'pioneering' around when we want to describe our heroes and the people
who've moved us, but there are no more fitting words than those right
now and there simply was no musician like Jon Lord in the history of
hard rock. Nobody. Period.There was nobody that played like him. There
was nobody that sounded like him. There was nobody that wrote like him. There was nobody that looked like him. There was nobody more articulate,
gentlemanly, warm, or fucking cooler that ever played keyboards or got
anywhere near a keyboard. What he did was all his own."wikipedia

If you have time for a second cup of coffee or teaon my Monday Morning Music Break,here is a second track from The Book of Taliesyn:River Deep, Mountain High.It features Deep Purple's gorgeous heavy soundand showcases Jon Lord on the organ.

Friday, October 23, 2015

In my last northern post I shared how my fatherapproached the challenges of isolation and lonelinessin the remote village of Lansdowne Housein the wilderness of northwestern Ontario.He focused on remaining busy and never letting himself go.

Before I, myself, went north,I had no concept of what being cut off from civilizationfor long periods of time meant.I was entranced with the romance and mystery of the North:Indians, coureur des bois, priests, vast landscapes,northern nights with dancing skies, wolves, andthe monumental Hudson Bay Companywith its far-flung trading posts.

The North drew me, as it had drawn my father and others.I was an idealistic white ten year oldwhen I went into the wilderness in February 1961; but I'm sure that there were also white adultswho went into the northern bush fueled by idealism, a desire to make life better for the Indians,and a longing to experience the mythical North.And some, I'm guessing, were less preparedand less knowledgeable than I was,with untested inner resources and personal fortitude.

Some misjudged their abilityto handle the challenge of leaving behindall that was familiarfor the remote North.And some of thosethe bush broke.

They left bushedand under very different circumstances from when they had arrived.When I went to Lansdowne House,I overheard bits and pieces of stories discussed by the adults within the tiny white community,stories about forcibly removing bushed peoplefrom different communities in the North.I don't remember the details,but I do remember their awarenessof the risks being in the North carried.

Here is one incident that my father wrote about after he left the Indian Affairs Branchin Sioux Lookout, Ontario:"Another character we had let himself gophysically, emotionally, morally, and nutritionally."Oh, he always wore a white shirt and tie in school.The only trouble was that the shirt he was wearing when he went in in September,was the same one that he was wearingwhen they took him out in March.I don't think it had been off his back in the interim,most certainly it had never been cleaned."This character started off by not caring about his personal appearance or cleanliness.This apparently threw him into a state of depression,and he became very homesick and lonesomefor his wife and family."Then he got this ridiculous ideathat his wife was being unfaithful,and he really hit the skids."He started making up to one of the squaws,and a married one at that.There was quite a scandal in the village."The husband came home from his trapline,sized up the situation,and forbade his wife to speak to the teacher."The squaw was apparently quite attracted to the teacher,for she tried to shoot herself,but only succeeded in shooting off a couple of fingers."As a result of the whole mess,the teacher became exceedingly despondent,and did not bother watching his diet to see that he was getting the necessary nutritional elements."In March, he became seriously ill,and we had to send a plane into rush him him out to the hospital."The local hospital in Sioux Lookout couldn't diagnosewhat was wrong with him,and he was rushed to Winnipeg General Hospital."He had scurvy of all things -the first case the hospital had dealt withfor goodness knows how long."

I share this anecdote to underscorethe challenges of living in the remote Northcut off from contact with the Outside.Sometimes the only contact available was via shortwave radio,if there was one in the community.

During his time in the North with the Indian Affairs Branch,my father sometimes had to go into isolated places and remove or help remove white people who had suffered complete breakdowns.It was a difficult task, made worse by the fact that the bushed person often did not want to come out.

Till next time ~Fundy Blue
In Honor of Canada's
New Prime Minister
Justin Trudeau:The four MacBeath Girls supporting Justin Trudeau's father,Pierre Elliot Trudeau,when he ran successfully to becomePrime Minister of Canada in 1968.

Notes:1. Language: Today many people find the terms Indian and, certainly, squaw offensive.
My father did not intend to be offensive. These were the words used fifty years ago.

2. Who? Where? When?
My father deliberately omitted information that would identify the teacher
and the Indian woman when he wrote his account of the sad, painful event.

3. Source of Anecdote:
My father recounted this event in an unpublished paper he wrote while attending
St. Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, Nova Scotia in 1965 or 1966:The Northern School Teacher: A Hand Book to Be Issued to All New Entrants to the Teaching Profession in Indian Schools in the Sioux Lookout Indian Agency

And for Map Lovers Like Me:

Map of Northwestern Ontario

Showing the Attawapiskat and Albany Rivers

Inland from Akimiski Island in James BayThe black dots record raccoon locations garnered from Indian trappers and other sources.

My internal clock ran amok for days,and things spiraled more and more out of control.I might as well have criss-crossed time zones around the world twice in 80 hours.Question: At what point would you recognize you were spiraling?

Thursday, October 8th: Up at 11:30 a.m.We eat muesli with half and halfand sandwiches made of rat cheddar cheese in six-week old bread.Grumpy Cat plays pickle ball while I don't go to the store.I'm too busy and too wired. I'm write, write, writing.The Ever-Patient reappears and plops a supper-sized bowl of muesli and half and half by my computer.

Friday, October 9th:Up at 5:30 a.m. Still muesli with half and half.Terry plays pickle ball.

I chug coffee bleary-eyed.I have forgotten about going to the grocery store.Or blogging. Or writing.I am prying photos out of an old album with a sharp knifewhile I watch some of the many episodes of theYoung and the Restless I missed while traveling.I think about the dozens and dozens of other albumsI have to pry photos from too. And digitize.I want to stab the album.

My writing! Yikes!I stab the knife block instead and power up my computer.To power myself up,I begin to scarf ginger and chocolate,washing them down with copious coffee.

I enter the flow!I am on a creative roll!

Hours later the E-P reappears and gently suggests I shower before he takes me to Parkway to eat,because now there is no more bread or half and half,and dry muesli is hard to swallow after playing pickle ball in the hot sun at 6,000 feet.We pick up milk on the way to Parkway.I hungrily eat hot food and toss back merlot at the bar.Much later, at home, writing and blogging have slipped my mind. I am playing Star Trek, Goldfish, and myVegas slots on-line. Brilliantly! I win millions of fake chips and stagger to bed about 3:30 a.m.

Saturday, October 10th:Up at 7:00 a.m. I have an early hair appointment.I am in serious need of a skunk line coverup,and nothing comes between me and my hair stylist.On the way home I stop at Sprouts for more half and half, ginger, and chocolate,and something green, leafy, and scaryto go with Sprout's deli-prepared meatloaf.No time to get anything more!I have writing and blogging to do(and maybe a couple of slot spins with my new millions).After a meatloaf supper with no green, leafy, scary things,I degenerate into a gambler on tilt.I lose millions of fake chips.I am pissed.The E-P distracts me with a consoling arm around my shoulder.I accidentally hit maximum betand lose a half million chips in one spin.I am broke and really pissed.Terry beats a hasty retreat downstairsto hide in whatever sports event is on tv.His rabid male cheering doesn't cheer me.There is nothing like a big gambling loss to clear brain fog!Writing!I wallow in Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan'sGirl from the North Country countless timeswhile rereading my memoir-in-progress.

The Rest:I'll spare you the rest.I realized I was out of control when I found a big bag of baby kale in the fridge on Monday.Whatever possessed me to buy that?I'm hoping that kale degenerates into slime quickly,and I can sneak it into the garbage without Terry noticing.

Today, Tuesday, October 15th:Last night I only stayed up until 1:00 a.m. writing my latest northern post.I only played Cash and Dylan's GFTNCountryabout 20 times while I was writing. I got up at 7:00 a.m. to spit-shine my northern postbefore two appointments this morning.Both were cancelled by sick providers!I had the unexpected gift of extra time!So I drafted this without Cash and Dylan, ginger and chocolate, or muesli and half and half.I'm slowing the whiplash of herky jerky time travel.I think I've dodged a James Cole plunge into madness.I think I can sleep tonight!